Song of the Morning

 The most interesting part about being awake before dawn is listening to the sounds of the morning.  While still dark, I hear coyotes in the distance, howling their night song.  As the sky begins to lighten, the birds gradually start their herald of the rising sun, first one or two, then more join the chorus, like an orchestra beginning to warm up.  Each one is separate and distinct; one or two are loud and rhythmic, heard above the rest, who seem to be falling into place, each playing his part in welcoming the new day.  Some, like the geese flying overhead, add a loud, brassy sound to the whole orchestral piece.

This morning's song will never be repeated exactly as it is, now, in this present time. It unfolds, moment by moment, unexpected and new, revealing the sacred in the ordinary.  There is joy and celebration in these sounds, as well as the one resounding message of all creation: each song is integral to the whole; each song is a unique expression of the mystery that is life; each song praises this moment alone.  One early spring morning among many to come, but today is all there is: right now.

The truth is, tomorrow is just a thought in my head. Sure, I have a calendar and a plan for what I am expected to do in future days.  I can dream about what might happen or I can spend time worrying  about what I am afraid might happen. I suppose we have to have a blueprint of sorts, but life is really about flow: each moment flows into the next and so on, like a river.  We really don't have as much control as we think we have. Sobering, but true.

So for today, I will put myself into God's tender care, sing my unique song praising the light of dawn, and enter into the river's flow. 

I will be thankful for each moment as it comes and will be fully present, adapting to whatever there is to adapt to.  I will take a lesson from the birds and simply be me.  Maybe that is all that's required.

Simple Gifts

 This morning I am thankful for simple gifts: flowing water; the first spring flowers; a beautiful sunrise; the flock of noisy geese that tell me winter is almost over; the sound of a piano concerto; the scents of lavender, peppermint and ylang ylang; a hug from a loved one; a deep breath of fresh air. 

 As I think of these things, more flood my mind: the first sip of coffee in  the early morning; a warm fire on a chilly evening; my little dog, Shamus as he looks up at me with trusting eyes; the taste of a fresh orange; the deep love I feel for my family. These gifts are given to me each day, yet I barely take notice.  

Perhaps the one year anniversary of our Covid-19 pandemic has caused me to be more sensitive on this morning to the daily assurances that I usually take for granted. I reflect on the time that we have been separated from family and friends, from our churches and community activities. I pray for those who have lost their lives alone in hospital beds gasping for air. I think of  all the health care workers who've been traumatized by caring for patients who they are unable to help in the end, as well as the families left behind and I pray that they would be given comfort and strength.

These experiences have impacted us all and we will never be the same.  Hopefully, we will never again take for granted the simple gifts of our daily lives.

This morning, I look around, give thanks for the five senses that enable me to experience the world, as well as the sixth sense of the heart and soul that gives sight into the unseen. I take notice of the beautiful symphony that is life -- the dark, discordant notes as well as the harmonious, and know that it is all an integral part of my experience of life on earth. Whatever lessons I have to learn, I pray that I will grow through them and come out, somehow, a better, stronger, more loving person. Give me love, God, please... The words to a George Harrison song come to mind:

Give me love

Give me love

Give me peace on earth

Give me light

Give me life

Keep me free from birth

Give me hope

Help me cope, with this heavy load

Trying to, touch and reach you with,

Heart and soul

Spring Cleaning

Spring is coming!  Every March, as we approach the Vernal Equinox, my thoughts turn towards spring cleaning, rebirth and renewal.  

I really don't enjoy cleaning at all, but my mother-n-law, Joan, who passed on several years ago, left behind a legacy of ritualistic spring cleaning. Every March. Joan would empty and wash every cupboard and closet, scrub every wall and window and launder every curtain and rug.  Top to bottom, everything received a thorough airing, cleaning and reorganizing.  No matter how chilly it was, she would throw open the windows, disinfecting with sunlight and fresh air every nook and cranny of her beautiful home.

When she reached the age of eighty, still in her own home, still doing her spring cleaning, she said to me "You know, Patti, I just don't enjoy it like I used to", which of course made me chuckle. Although I couldn't relate to ever enjoying cleaning, I did admire her spunk and energy.

So, as my thoughts turn toward Spring, I think of Joan with love and admiration and try to apply her spring cleaning lessons to spirituality, which resonates a bit more with me than actual physical cleaning (which I really should do as well)!

• Emptying:  Releasing old hurts, resentments, anger, sadness, anxiety, fear of the future, regrets of the past.  I go outside, face the sun, breathe deeply and let it all go.
• Washing:  On my inbreath,  I visualize the pure white light of the Spirit coursing through my body from the top of my head, out through my feet, clearing any debris, washing me clean.
• Scrubbing: Washing alone can't always do the job.  There are always stubborn stains, crevices, hidden grime, etc. that need a little scrubbing with a stiff brush. What old habits and patterns are hard to break, but no longer serve me?  What accumulated junk in my home or heart needs to be thrown out and replaced with new, fresh, beautiful things?
• Laundering:  Water is a metaphor for the Spirit.  Ask for help and be given the cleansing, renewing refreshment of the Spirit.  This water is restorative; showered freely on all who ask.
• Airing: Breath is another metaphor for Spirit. As I breathe in, I feel the gentle wind and Light of  Spirit, disinfecting any areas in need of  inner healing, airing out anything that has previously been hidden and needs to come out into the open. Like  wounds that need sunlight and fresh air, my inner emotional wounds can be healed as well.
• Reorganizing: After cleansing, I need to replace old energy with new; negative thought patterns with positive, inspirational messages. Whatever speaks to my heart, whether it's scripture, quotes from inspiring leaders, poetry or song.  Embrace the new, let go of the old.  Be encouraged and strong, create new habits, create positive change in my home, my heart and the world.

This is a process, I know, that is not easy. I cling to old ways of thinking and doing things, as most of us do. But I can start with today, letting go of something old, breathing in the cleansing refreshment of God's Spirit, claiming the Light of renewal and taking one small baby step toward something

 fresh and new! 

The Ocean's Ode

The ocean is poetry in motion...its flow, rhythm and song all reflect the profound beauty, wonder and mystery of creation. Since my first sight of it as a young child, I have felt a deep stirring in my soul each time I have encountered it, like meeting an old friend and feeling that instant connection rekindled.

Last week, Tom and I braved Covid travel restrictions and drove to the coast of South Carolina, to stay with another couple (longtime friends), in a rented house by the sea. Though it was cool and cloudy the first day, our walk on the beach was like balm to the spirit.  Early each morning, we walked the beach, catching the first rays of sun, listening to the sound of the waves and the cries of seagulls.  At low tide, the patterns on the sand were quite beautiful in the morning light and meditating as we walked, I felt the stirrings of joy that heal a winter-weary soul.

The ocean has a way of stilling and calming the spirit that is soothing, healing and uplifting.  Anne Morrow Lindburgh wrote a book titled Gift From the Sea, in 1955, when society's expectation for women was that they should be wholly focused on home and children, certainly not spending time alone near the ocean, writing poetry and books. Yet she did just that, recognizing the need in a woman's life for times of solitude and stillness:

"Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone.  The artist knows he must be alone to create;the writer, to work out his thoughts; the musician, to compose; the saint, to pray.  But (women) need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves:that firm strand which will be the indispensable center of a whole web of human relationships.  She must find that inner stillness which Charles Morgan describes as 'the stilling of the soul within the activities of the mind and body so that it might be still as the axis of a revolving wheel is still'..."

For Anne Morrow Lindburgh, the sea was the place to find that inner stillness, something that I can certainly relate to.  If you've ever been to the ocean, even if it's been a long time, you can revisit that sense of profound peace and stillness by finding that memory and meditating on the experience:

Close your eyes, imagine the ocean waves crashing against the shore; breathe in the salt air, hear the sounds of seabirds and the rhythmic ocean song; join in praise and wonder at the deep mysteries of creation. Give thanks to the Creator for the "Gift From the Sea"... Peace, be still.